


Clutch

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: K-pop, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, First Dates, M/M, Rape, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:20:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25157638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: Wonwoo, who is whiteness: the thesis to Mingyu's dark antithesis.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu
Kudos: 25





	Clutch

It’s still too early to start preparing this, but the business of cooking keeps his mind occupied. Mingyu stirs about the kitchen--rice, pork, stew, what else? And how should the table be set? What if he hates it?

But he knows it’s not likely. Wonwoo is older than him, and therefore more worldly. He will appreciate the effort that has gone into this, and he will stay long enough to see the show all played out. As Mingyu prepares for their first official date, he runs through the list of what he knows to be proper date procedure in his mind: _dinner, drinks, movie, bedroom_. That’s how it goes in the movies, and that’s how he’s going to make this go, no matter what it takes.

Wonwoo is older than him, and more worldly, and of course, more experienced. By any normal standards, this is Mingyu’s first date ever, first time for _everything_ , and perhaps Wonwoo being the first person to show enough interest in him has him reeling; it will start with this date and he will never have to go through it again because they will marry. It’s destined to be. Through all the time they’ve spent speaking over FaceTime, Wonwoo has looked past his flaws--his palpable awkwardness and anxiety, his clear level of inexperience. Mingyu’s always grateful: it had taken so much time for him to work up the nerve to download a dating app, let alone actually use it and talk to someone. But Wonwoo’s not _someone_.

Wonwoo, who knows about music and art and love and all the things that Mingyu likes, and it’s intimidating really, but something had compelled him to invite him over for dinner for their first official date. Wonwoo, who is whiteness: the thesis to Mingyu’s dark antithesis. He’s inexperienced, he knows this, and his mind never lets him forget this. Wonwoo is kind, but is he picky? He is smart, but is he pretentious? He is friendly, but is he actually interested? Does he want what Mingyu wants? What if he comes across differently in person than over the phone? What if there’s a lull? What if--what if--what if--

His brain stops him. There’s no use getting worked up about it now. He recalls his therapist’s reminders that _you can only control one thing at a time_. Yes, one thing at a time indeed. Dinner first. Then drinks. Then movie. Then bedroom. _Control_.

By all means necessary.

Wonwoo looks good when he arrives. His hair has grown longer and it lays in waves atop his head, which complements the soft looseness of his sweater, the gentle and sophisticated air about him. Wonwoo comes bearing hugs and alcohol, and he is very warm. Mingyu briefly wonders if he has already been drinking, but he puts the thought out of his mind when Wonwoo smiles kindly at him, tells him earnestly, “I’m so happy to see you in person.” Mingyu feels himself blush, but turns away to avoid saying something strange. But what if it’s more strange that he hadn’t said anything at all?

“Do you need any help cooking?” Mingyu pivots on his heel to assure him that no, everything is ready. It’s been ready. Wonwoo smiles yet again as he goes to sit down. Mingyu recalibrates. _One thing at a time._

Dinner starts well, and Wonwoo proves to be just as kind and smart in person as he is over the phone. He’s also surprisingly impersonal, selectively asking Mingyu about himself instead of offering up much personal information of his own. But there’s no need to get ahead of oneself, here. In due time, Mingyu will know all of what he needs to know.

For now, he focuses on what he sees, concretely, like the softness of that sweater. It’s a pure white, and Mingyu wants to touch it, should it feel rough and coarse like an old hand-me-down or soft and fresh and brand new. The fibers are thick and tightly knit, and it sits heavy and loose. As Wonwoo shifts around as he speaks, his collarbones and pale skin spill out of the neckline, and Mingyu finds it impossible to look away. Wonwoo catches him glancing down once or twice, and he smirks playfully, cockily, like a man who knows what he’s doing. With conscious effort, Mingyu looks back up.

“Oh, by the way. My roommates never ended up making it back in time for that concert.”

“That’s too bad. Did you go without them?”

“No. Said they were drunk for 20 hours straight and I had to take care of them. One

of them threw up on me.”

“Just sounds like an average Tuesday night to me.”

Wonwoo throws his head back in a laugh, and Mingyu follows his eyes down his neck, and they land back down on his collarbones. He can’t help it, the endless thoughts of what’s to come next. But it’s not necessarily a sexual urge, he finds. Merely the child-like interest in seeing something exciting for the first time. To see the exposed skin of a _man_ , in his _house_ , essentially his for the taking--that alone is a thought too outlandish, too provocative to manage. That bare skin alone has Mingyu gripping himself under the table. So pale, so smoothe, so soft, so there, so--

But he’s staring too much, he knows he is. He knows how unsavory it is, and as much as Wonwoo has excused his neuroses before, he knows this is bordering on creepy. 

“Do I have something on my shirt?” Mingyu snaps his eyes up at the deep timber of Wonwoo’s voice. 

“No,” he rushes out. He flails his hands. “No, sorry.” Wonwoo snickers, and only then does Mingyu realize that he’s been teased. He breathes out a sigh, trying to settle down.

In all of this, Mingyu is at least glad to find that there’s no real lull in conversation. At least none that he can detect. He finds that they can talk freely and openly like old friends, like they do over the phone, but the real physicality of the situation is electrifying.

Only one more time does Mingyu let his eyes fall down to Wonwoo’s body. This time, he gets lost in the intricate, but insignificant pattern of the threads and they loop and swirl around the neckline until Wonwoo clears his throat audibly. When Mingyu looks up he’s not met with a genuine smile or a sly smirk anymore. He can at least read that this time, it’s a tight, uncomfortable smile that Wonwoo gives him. He feels his bones chill.

“I’m so sorry,” he lets out. Wonwoo blinks, tries harder to smile, but it only looks more strained. He adjusts his shirt to cover himself more fully before cleaning up this situation with more tact and finesse than Mingyu could ever manage.

“How about some drinks?”

This is the part Mingyu is most worried about. Once the dishes are cleared away and the distractions are removed from the table, Mingyu knows that one, he has nothing else to look at besides Wonwoo, and two, that he gets a little problematic when he’s drunk. He knows how this story goes, knows that he’ll accidentally reveal something unwanted about himself that Wonwoo doesn’t need to hear, knows how he always makes others uncomfortable, and yet: “Let’s do it.”

_Drinks_ is the second step of the procedure, and Mingyu is glad that they’re headed on the right path. As he heads over to get some bottles of Soju and glasses, he prays that things only get better from here.

“What’s your usual limit?”

“Of this?” Mingyu looks up from where he’s pouring.

“Yeah. How much can you drink?”

“I’ll stick to three or four.” Wonwoo clasps his hands together under his chin, delighted.

But he doesn’t stick to that. Through the night he keeps drinking, long after Wonwoo taps out after a few rounds of going shot-for-shot and realizes that Mingyu can drink him under the table.

“I meant to tell you,” Mingyu says. He wipes liquid droplets from the corners of his mouth. “I really like that sweater.” Wonwoo sits back and crosses his arms. Mingyu can recognize that he’s already on the path of saying things he shouldn’t. But he smiles.

“I noticed.” 

This would have put Mingyu into quite a nervous state before, but with the help of his liquid courage, Mingyu leans in closer, as though trying to reach out and touch. Wonwoo looks even better from this close, and Mingyu thinks that he might really be on to something here. He reaches out, touches Wonwoo’s hand splayed out on the table.

“I’m seriously so glad you’re here.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah," he says, looks Wonwoo up at down. "Yeah, you look so fucking good.” Wonwoo hums. “I never get lucky with boys like you.” Wonwoo pulls back. Mingyu knows he’s said too much, feels the world drain around him. He goes to stand, grabbing at some glasses and empty bottles to bring them over toward the sink.

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he sets away. “Just can’t believe you’re here.” As he walks away, his hip bumps the tabletop, which rocks the table and sends him off balance. He catches himself quickly enough on a nearby counter, but not before Wonwoo rushes up to try to catch him. Mingyu feels his skin burn where Wonwoo grabs him, squeezes his arm before letting go, and feels his face burn as well.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Mingyu turns, smiles abashedly. “Forget what I said about sticking to three or four.” Wonwoo laughs.

“Why don’t we go relax?”

Mingyu can’t believe he’s made it to the third stage. Gone are the anxieties of his sober reckoning, he knows he can’t mess this up now. _Movie_. Now, this is where it starts, and now he feels like he can do anything, be good enough to go somewhere he’s never been. He’s never done this before, anything remotely sexual, but he feels he must. By any means necessary. And it doesn’t hurt that Wonwoo is good-looking and experienced. With his newfound confidence, Mingyu thinks he could do this with anyone, get whatever he wants, but Wonwoo is the perfect choice. It really doesn’t get better than this.

Wonwoo sits very close to Mingyu on the couch, and he takes this as his opportunity to touch that sweater. He does it indifferently, keeping one arm on the back of the couch and lightly brushing his shoulder while he looks straight ahead. He can feel Wonwoo’s eyes shift back and forth from him to the television, but he doesn’t dare look. Not yet. This is how it goes in the movies. This is how it will go here.

Now, though, he finds that touching that sweater is a little more than curiosity. The world is unclear, and there are no consequences anymore. Wonwoo is already here, on his couch, on the third stage of the procedure, he couldn’t leave now. Mingyu won’t allow it. He really wants this sweater.

He reaches down more confidently this time, running his hand absently along the neckline and pulling it a bit to feel Wonwoo’s skin underneath. It’s so warm, and Mingyu can no longer hold himself back. He looks down to Wonwoo’s face to find him staring at him again, and this time, they lock eyes. The glow of the television illuminates Wonwoo’s face from the side, and he looks up at him with the eagerness of a dog, but the fire in his eyes of a man on a mission.

“Are you enjoying the movie?” he asks, and Mingyu shakes with inexplicably embarrassed laughter. 

With no great ceremony Mingyu leans down and kisses him once, no over-thinking or planning involved, for once; he merely goes through the motions, copies what he’s seen people do before. And Wonwoo gets into it, too. After the initial kiss he shifts up to be closer to Mingyu, falling into him as he places Mingyu’s hands on his own neck, and drops his hands down to Mingyu’s thighs. As he kisses him more, the hands grip tighter around his neck.

The make-out lasts until Wonwoo shifts his hand from Mingyu’s thigh to his crotch, and Mingyu pulls away with a gasp.

“Sorry. I’m nervous,” Mingyu says.

“Stop apologizing,” Wonwoo says. 

When Wonwoo drops down to his knees and pulls Mingyu’s legs toward him, Mingyu thinks he’s going to lose his mind. He’s beside himself with excitement--this is exactly how it goes in the movies. In a few smoothe motions, Wonwoo undresses him, strokes him, and swallows him down before Mingyu can get a grip. Wonwoo looks up at him, chuckles around him when he sees his head fall back in his lack of control.

When he regains control it’s unimaginable--the sensation of Wonwoo around him is great, possibly amplified by the alcohol, but the real fantasy of it is the entire situation. The very perverse nature of having a pretty boy on his knees in front of him, after a real date, in the real intimacy of his home is enough to make him feel like he’s made it, somehow. As if this is making him a man.

But maybe it can get better.

On one particular stroke, Mingyu reaches down and grabs the back of the head between his legs and pushes down, further into himself like he sees the guys do to the girls in porn. The increased tightness is sensational, but unlike porn, Wonwoo suddenly pulls off.

“Don’t push my head,” he says, but Mingyu ignores, stares down and presses himself further until he feels himself hit the back of Wonwoo’s throat. Wonwoo chokes, gasps, pulls back again. 

“Dude,” he says. Mingyu blinks. “Stop pushing my head.” Mingyu removes his hands, letting Wonwoo go again briefly before deciding that enough is enough. Operating on auto-pilot, still trapped in his drunken haze, he pulls Wonwoo up by the wrist and drags him into his bedroom.

_Bedroom_ , Mingyu thinks absently, but the thought is just a whisper in his mind. It’s not really about the date anymore, as now this is the only thing that matters.

Wonwoo is older than him, and more worldly, and more experienced, but most importantly, he is much smaller than Mingyu. Mingyu pulls him down onto the bed, but the fact that he’s the only one undressed is not lost on him. He goes back to that sweater that Wonwoo’s still wearing; he pulls it off quickly and throws it up toward the top of the bed where he can see it. As he lowers himself on top of the other and gets closer to his face, Wonwoo looks unsure. Maybe it’s Mingyu’s size, maybe it’s his labored breathing and hiccuping, maybe it’s the head pushing or the leering or the fact that he hasn’t let Wonwoo say a word out of his own inexperienced excitement, but Wonwoo makes a move to stop him, or at least slow him down.

He puts his hands up, shielding himself from Mingyu’s kiss by pushing him back by the chest. When Mingyu’s hands come down to his jeans, he grabs his hands too, which only leaves his neck exposed. Mingyu latches onto it with his mouth briefly, before coming back up and focusing his attention on Wonwoo’s wrists. He grabs them, pinning them above his head with one big hand, kneeling on Wonwoo’s thigh to hold him down.

“Hold on,” Wonwoo calls out, but Mingyu keeps going. In a brief out-of-body experience that his therapist has given him a more precise name for, Mingyu watches himself take Wonwoo’s jeans off, grabbing harshly and uncomfortably at his crotch. He’s so slim, and Mingyu dwarfs his body as he lays into him further.

“Wait,” Wonwoo calls out again. He struggles his hands back down to cover himself and push away. “Slow down.” Mingyu does slow down. He stops his movements and pulls away for a second, but Wonwoo makes no clear movement to leave. He waits for Wonwoo to say or do something again but when he doesn’t, Mingyu goes back in, placing a heavy hand on the taut torso below him as he goes in for a kiss, again.

It works this time, but only as a distraction from where he reaches down and exposes Wonwoo fully. Now, Wonwoo curls up his legs to reject him with more confidence, but still Mingyu holds him down by the hips. In the brief struggle that ensues, Wonwoo looks into Mingyu’s eyes and sees nothing of the sweetness that used to be there. Instead there is emptiness and alcohol and aggression. Looking at him like that, so awkwardly struggling above him, covered in sweat, Wonwoo recoils. He takes the opportunity to try to struggle away, but the movement pulls Mingyu back to the moment. He stands and grabs Wonwoo around the waist, throwing him back down onto the bed with ambition clear in his eyes. _Dinner, drinks, movie, bedroom. This is the time for bedding._

He’s practically salivating as he holds the boy below him down and reaches down to enter him with his fingers. A heavy hand across his chest, Wonwoo cries out at the suddenness and the pain. Several times he calls out _stop_ and _let me go_ , and Mingyu sits up on top of him, staring down in a drunken, hormonal stupor.

“Take it, though,” he says. He smiles down at him. “You can take it.” Looking stunned and stupid with pleasure, like a milk-drunk baby, Mingyu places one hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder, the opposite holding down his torso, pinning him down roughly, nearly suffocating him and stopping his struggle as he takes him on his own turn, entering him and going in and out of him with an awkward, sloppy and inconsistent rhythm. He can see Wonwoo crying and feels how he has gone limp, but the oncoming peak of his arousal and implicit perfection of this date is just within reach, and he will do it if not for love then for himself.

By all means necessary. 

He continues going until he’s done, Wonwoo looking pointedly away from the lack of coordination involved, the sweat of his brow and the strain of his expression as the off-beat and quirky charm that Mingyu once had fades into the sexually frustrated grown man he must be inside until he falls on top of him in a heavy, panting heap, and not until Mingyu flops onto his side of him does he get up, replace his pants and run out of the room in a pained, crying rush.

The nausea starts to hit Mingyu then, but he doesn’t know if it’s his normal anxiety catching up to him or the alcohol or the uncertainty of what’s just happened. Either way, he feels too sick to move or think about it, so he calls it a successful night in his head and lets his exhaustion and pride send him off to sleep, keeping Wonwoo’s forgotten white sweater tight in his clutch.

**Author's Note:**

> Spero sia scomodo.


End file.
